The “babies” tend to be on or near me, or crying, or both. I spend a fair amount of time trying to get William to sleep, to get Elliott to get involved in something that will actually keep him happy for a little while, or to get William to play on the floor for 10 minutes straight so that I can get something done. But, a lot of days, it seems like I'm not succeeding in any of those efforts.

    So, yesterday, a friend of mine posted a picture on Facebook. This particular friend has a baby who is about a month younger than William. The picture was of the baby, who had made his way across the floor to the toys housed along the side of the room. I just kept looking at that picture and thinking that if only William had some different toys to play with, perhaps he would stay occupied a bit longer at a stretch. But William seems so bored with all of his toys! And I am so ready for him to be ready to play. In order to find a way to make him playing longer, I kept looking at that picture. Suddenly, I realized my sons need to play closer to me.

    So I cleared off the cubby(围起来的)shelves in the playroom, and my husband and I moved it to the living room. We found all of the toys that would be safe for William and put them in the cubbies. Then, we pulled the play kitchen in.

    William was so interested in what I was doing that he sat there and played and chewed on his toys while we moved furniture. When we were done, I moved him over closer to the cubbies and he got so excited that he didn't disturb for an hour, while I made dinner and cleaned up! Even Elliott played happily for a few hours. It was a dream come true! And I got to know that my lack of happy children was because of my desire for a toy—free living room.

    Papa, as a son of a dirt-poor farmer, left school early and went to work in a factory, for education was for the rich then. So, the world became his school. With great interest, he read everything he could lay his hands on, listened to the town elders and learned about the world beyond his tiny hometown.“There's so much to learn,” he'd say. “Though we're born stupid, only the stupid remain that way.” He was determined that none of his children would be denied (拒绝) an education.

    Thus, Papa insisted that we learn at least one new thing each day. Though, as children, we thought this was crazy, it would never have occurred to us to deny Papa a request. And dinner time seemed perfect for sharing what we had learned. We would talk about the news of the day; no matter how insignificant, it was never taken lightly. Papa would listen carefully and was ready with some comment, always to the point.

    Then came the moment—the time to share the day's new learning. Papa, at the head of the table, would push back his chair and pour a glass of red wine, ready to listen.

     “Felice,” he'd say, “tell me what you learned today.”

     “I learned that the population of Nepal is ....”

    Silence.

    Papa was thinking about what was said, as if the salvation of the world would depend upon it. “The population of Nepal. Hmm. Well….” he'd say. “Get the map; let's see where Nepal is.” And the whole family went on a search for Nepal.

    This same experience was repeated until each family member had a turn. Dinner ended only after we had a clear understanding of at least half a dozen such facts.

    As children, we thought very little about these educational wonders. Our family, however, was growing together, sharing experiences and participating in one another's education. And by looking at us, listening to us, respecting our input, affirming our value, giving us a sense of dignity, Papa was unquestionably our most influential teacher.

    Later during my training as a future teacher, I studied with some of the most famous educators. They were imparting what Papa had known all along—the value of continual learning. His technique has served me well all my life. Not a single day has been wasted, though I can never tell when knowing the population of Nepal might prove useful.

    Harvard researchers have created a tough, low-cost, biodegradable (可生物降解的) material inspired by insects' hard outer shells. The material's inventors say it has a number of possible uses and someday could provide a more environmentally friendly alternative to plastic. The material, made from shrimp ('虾) shells and proteins produced from silk, is called "shrilk." It is thin, clear, flexible and strong.

    A major benefit of the material is its biodegradability. Plastic's toughness and flexibility represented a revolution in materials science during the 1950s and '60s. Decades later, however, plastic's very durability (耐用性) is raising questions about how appropriate it is for one-time products such as plastic bags, or short-lived consumer goods, used in the home for a few years and then cast into a landfill where they will degrade for centuries. What is the point of making something that lasts 1,000 years?

    Shrilk not only will degrade in a landfill, but its basic components are used as fertilizer(肥料), and so will enrich the soil.

    Shrilk has great potential, the inventors said. Materials from which it is made are plentiful in nature, found in everything ranging from shrimp shells, insect bodies to living plants. That makes shrilk low cost, and its mass production possible should it be used for products demanding a lot of material.

Work on shrilk is continuing in the lab. The inventors said the material becomes flexible when wet, so they're exploring ways to use it in wet environments. They're also developing simpler production processes, which could be used for non-medical products, like for computer cases and other products inside the home. They're even exploring combining it with other materials, like carbon fibers, to give it new properties.

    My two- and four-year-old boys love to win, whether they're racing their bikes down the sidewalk or just finishing their snacks. It's true that those with high status, from world leaders and prize winners to athletes and movie stars, are people we like and respect. A recent study published in Nature Human Behaviour showed that we seem to have an innate (天生的) preference for high-ranking peoples—but only if those people aren't hurtful toward others.

    Researchers showed toddlers (aged 21 to 31 months) a scene where two puppets (木偶) approached one another from opposite sides of a stage and one bowed to let the other pass first. Asked which puppet they liked better, 18 of the 21 toddlers in the experiment reached for the puppet who had been allowed to pass. Because respect from others is a marker of status, this suggests that children have a preference for those with a higher status—even before age three.

    However, the results were quite different when two puppets approached one another and one used force to knock the other down before continuing to the other side. In this case, 18 of the 21 toddlers reached for the one who was knocked down. As the researchers concluded, "When approaching others, very young children care not only who wins, but also how." The previous experiment has shown that toddlers know about social status, but this experiment went one step further by proving they have an obvious preference for high status. Since the participants were so young, this might even be an innate human preference.

    In a word, this new research suggests that young children appreciate people who do well while at the same time doing good to others. So, when my four-year-old thinks that he has to get his shoes on first, I'll keep reminding him that helping his brother so they both finish faster is what winning is all about.

    After I mastered my first concerto (协奏曲) at the age of 14, my parents decided to get me a nice violin. I tried out dozens of instruments before I found my match: a German violin. It was beautiful, but what I liked best about it was its voice. Confident and strong, it was everything I longed to be.

    I'm not sure how much that violin cost, but my parents made me promise never to let it out of my sight. They didn't understand that pulling a large violin case ran counter to my daily middle school task of not being noticed. I was a strange, absent-minded kid. When I spoke up in class, my comments brought confused silence from teachers and wild laughter from students. Like a deer in a wolf pack, I tried to be quiet and still.

    However, my new violin was almost shockingly loud. Together, we were much louder than the rest of my middle school orchestra—which was encouraged, since the other kids made sounds like cats' crying. For one wonderful hour every day, I was showered with attention. Everyone wanted to hear what I had to say.

    Between classes, I bent under the combined weight of my violin case and a backpack filled with books. My body suffered, but my confidence grew. With my violin by my side, I found my voice. More and more, I contributed to class discussions and even made a couple of friends.

    Today, I'm just an excellent violinist with a regular day job. As I sit in my community orchestra, sometimes I feel jealous (嫉妒的) of my fellow musicians' instruments with their elegant voices. I may not be the best violinist around, but at least I'm still the loudest.